Chapter 8
Colson
Resisting him is harder than it should be. He’s not the first good-looking man to flirt with me, but he’s certainly the sexiest. There’s something else about him too, something I can’t describe with any words already known to me, but it’s tangibly different from any man I’ve met before him.
And whatever that nebulous thing is scares me.
I slam back a shot of the fruity concoction the bar sent back here tonight then exhale slowly. I need to get myself into game mode, block out the shit night I had and the intense man waiting for me out there, and dance my ass off.
I’m returning to an old crowd favorite—my specific blend of burlesque and ballet set to beat-heavy R&B music.
I enjoy the way I can lose myself in the routine, letting the music move through me and carry my body to its rhythm.
I need the distraction tonight. A few hours to forget potential stalkers, my complicated history, and Specter.
I peel out of my robe, hang it on the hook near my dressing station, then sit at my vanity to touch up my makeup. I’ll spend a few minutes fussing over my face while I wait to be announced.
“Girl.” Rudy rushes over to me with a huge smile on his face. “Did you see your man?”
“No, because I don’t have a man.”
He playfully shoves my shoulder. “Okay, did you see your fanboy sitting at his preferred table?”
“Yes. Why is this exciting to you? He’s almost always here.”
“But did you see him?”
I huff with frustration and twist in my seat. “What am I missing, Rudy?”
His smile grows as his eyes flicker with mischief. “You didn’t.” He makes a motion like he’s zipping his lips. “You’ll see.”
“Am I gonna be pissed?”
“You shouldn’t be.” He bounces on his toes. “But I can’t wait to find out.”
Well, shit. What is Specter up to?
“Cashmere,” Allen, our backstage tech, calls my name. “On in five.”
Returning my gaze to the mirror, I practice my stage expression, instantly erasing all hints of stress, frustration, and worry, and replacing them with what rakes in the money: seduction.
Minutes later, I’m standing behind the curtain, chewing gum and waiting for the music to start. I’ve chosen The Weeknd’s “Earned It” because the beat drives me wild. The curtains part and I slink out onto the stage, ignoring everything and everyone, especially Specter.
As I move through my act, playing it up for all these hungry men, my mind is blissfully blank. I’m absorbed in the sensuality of the music and connected to my body’s every movement. When all else fails, I can always count on dance to pull me through.
The end of the set approaches, which means it’s time for me to slide down into the splits, flip over and twerk my ass at the audience, then flip again and crawl to the edge of the stage. I do it, finally allowing my gaze to settle on Specter.
His awed expression sends a ripple of satisfaction through me. Not that I don’t always get admiring looks like that, but there’s something in his eyes that makes it feel new again. Different.
Now I know why Rudy was so excited. On Specter’s lap are at least a dozen long-stem roses tied with a huge, fuzzy bow. He brought me fucking roses.
I make it to the edge of the stage, writhing around on my back and running my hands over my almost nude body. The only things left in place are two tassels on my chest and my sequined purple G-string.
Specter’s lips part as he leans forward, his eyes surprisingly locked on my face and nothing else. I arch my back, tilting my head to watch him upside down, and as I drag my hand over my throat to my chest, he moans loudly enough that I can hear him.
“Fuuuck,” he murmurs, his brow creased.
The song ends and the lights dim around me.
For a moment the crowd is silent, but then one of them whoops, and suddenly they’re all clapping, whistling, and shouting for me, tossing money at the stage.
I get on my knees to wave at them all, offering the slightest of smiles, but Specter doesn’t move.
He doesn’t clap.
He doesn’t do anything but stare at me like a hungry lion watching his intended prey.
His intensity should bother me, but it definitely doesn’t. I get the sense his attention is given rarely, but I’ve got all of it. Every drop.
I get to my feet, blowing kisses and basking in the glow of their adulation. I knew this set would be a hit—it always is, and that’s why I don’t perform it often. It keeps the regulars excited and always coming back for more.
I turn around to take my leave. In the back, I blow out a breath as I put my robe on, mentally collecting myself before I go interact with Specter again.
When I’m ready, I summon my usual swagger and walk out confidently. Specter is leaning back in his seat, staring down at his cocktail, but as if he can sense my presence, his head snaps up, and he smiles.
I retain my composure, keeping my gaze neutral and cool, and sit with him. He lifts the roses from his lap and offers them to me.
“Groveling gift.”
My lips quirk in a smile that I fight back. “You think roses are the way to my forgiveness?”
“I’ll try anything. I don’t know if you can tell in the light, but they aren’t red. They’re a hybrid color, a deep burgundy with hints of black and purple. They’re rare, unique, and exquisite. Like you.”
I bend my head to sniff them, inhaling the lovely scent. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“The bow is cashmere.” He clears his throat. “For obvious reasons.”
I’m not exactly sure how to process this, so I simply mumble, “Nice touch.”
“I want you to know something.” He leans closer across the table.
“I won’t mess up anything you’ve got going.
I know I’m a lot. I’m intense, I get that, but you wouldn’t lose your freedom with me.
You’d just have a soft place to come home to at night and someone else to fight for you and keep you safe. ”
Gah, how does he know exactly the right thing to say to me? “I’m not in the market for a soft place or a hero.”
He nods, leaning back slowly. “Your performance was spectacular, and I’ve sufficiently humiliated myself enough for one night.” Specter bows his head. “Good night, Cashmere.”
He’s leaving? Do I want him to? Wait. Yes. I do. I should want him to leave. He’s overbearing and bossy and takes up too much of my time. I mentally summon my ever-ready snark.
“I’m still mad at you.”
“I assumed.” He pulls money out of his wallet and tosses down a wad of cash. “But if you ever decide you’re not, you know where to find me.”
I watch him walk away, completely stunned. That sounded like some kind of goodbye. Does that mean he’s not coming back?
Rudy and Darcy appear. “Girl,” Rudy says, “how did you let him walk away like that? Are you made of stone?”
Fuck. I think I might be.